All Thanks To Millicent Bulstrode
by soapboxx
Summary: What will ensue when Harry Potter finds himself naked in bed with none other than... Draco Malfoy?
1. Morning After Misunderstandings

_Disclaimer: I still don't own Harry Potter. *revives one of her 4 fans who has fainted from shock* _

_A/N: That's right, Adoring Readers! Soapbox, the dedicated, story-generating, robotic thing of a creature is grinding out another fic for all of you! "Hurrah!" I hear you say... Probably. Or maybe not. But if you aren't excited then why are you here to begin with? Why am I here again? Right. Story. It's just below this half-assed ramble of an author's note. I have no idea where this fanfiction is going yet and I have a feeling this is going to be a slow one so I apologize in advance for my lameness. The chapters probably won't be very good, and my updates will be uber sporratic. You're all used to that by now, right? _

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Harry Potter was absolutely certain of four things. The first being, he was naked. Second, he was naked in a bed that was not his own. Third, he was naked in a bed that was not his own with none other than Draco Malfoy. And lastly, he had an erection. He squinted and felt around for his glasses, only to knock over a lamp and catch it in time before hitting the floor and shattering. He ran his hand along the edges of a bedside drawer and his fingers fumbled about on the surface, until finally he felt the shape of two round spectacles attached by a wire frame. He slid them sloppily, crookedly onto the bridge of his nose and looked about. He was in the Slytherin common room. Memories came back to him in waves: Pansy inviting the Gryffindors to a Slytherin party in the spirit of "house unity" at breakfast that morning, how the firewhiskey burned his throat on the way down, and Lavender Brown giggling and spilling her drink on him. None of these details in any way led him to the position he currently was in. He tried desperately, in vain of course, to recall exactly what happened the night before that had resulted in him laying naked in a bed with Malfoy.

"Malfoy? Malfoy, wake up." he whispered, nudging his shoulder forcefully.

"Nnnghh. Go away, Pansy." came Draco's muffled reply as he snuggled deeper into the pillows.

"It's not Pansy. It's Potter. Your arch-nemesis? The Boy Whose Head You're Supposed To Bring On A Silver Platter To Voldemort? Ring any bells?"

"Oh." he said, sounding completely unfazed. He turned over to face Harry with a look that didn't indicate anything in particular at first, but then morphed into a look of confusion, until finally a wide grin broke out across his face.

"I fail to understand what you find so humorous about this situation." said Harry, scowling

"Don't be daft, Potter." Malfoy managed to gasp through barrages of laughter.

"What are you talking about? What happened last night?"

Malfoy stopped laughing, sat up and gave Harry a disbelieving look.

"You really don't remember?"

"No! I've made that pretty damn clear, haven't I?

"Well, the evidence is all here. You're naked. You're in my bed. And I've still got all my clothes on. Piece it together, Potter."

Harry gave him a look of perplexion but then his eyes widened as everything dawned on him at once.

"Wha- Y- You son of a bitch!" he sputtered angrily. "You KNEW I was drunk, and you must've taken advantage of me."

"Actually, Potter. It was rather on the contrary. I was pretty sozzled as well and I don't remember all the details, but I _do_ recall pleading with Goyle to help get you off of me, because apparently I'm 'so pretty when I'm drunk'".

Harry flushed crimson. "I- I didn't…"

"Oh, you did." Malfoy smirked, resisting the temptation to mimic Harry's attempt at seductiveness. "Even then, once Goyle had dragged you away, you snuck into my bed and begged me to protect you from Millicent."

"Millicent? What's she got to do with anything?"

"Well, she crawled into your lap and started to unbutton your trousers, telling you how badly she wanted you to be her first time. So naturally, I obliged and let you sleep here as I didn't want to awaken and stumble into the common room to find Millicent Bulstrode's naked body flattening the Gryffindor Hero."

"So you didn't-"

"Of course I didn't, Potter. What do you take me for? Sleeping with the enemy? Did you even bother to notice that you're the one naked, and you were the one spooning me when I woke up? Not to mention, you're the one with a stiffy right now."

"B-but, _no. _I was DRUNK, and you- you- That's disgusting. Look, I'm going now and we can just forget this ever happened."

"Excellent. How's that headache of yours?"

"What head-" Harry wrapped the bed sheet around the lower half of his body and rose from the bed in an instant, desperate to avoid further embarrassment. "Bloody, buggering, fucking _hell_! What have you done to me?!" Harry groaned in pain as he tried to steady himself, hand clutching his forehead as he fell backwards onto the bed.

"I haven't done anything to you, Potter. It's called a hangover. It's when-"

"Urghh, just shut up! I ruddy well _know _what a hangover is, Malfoy. I'm not daft."

"Well, Potter. I _was_ going to brew us a hangover potion, but since you've so rudely made it clear you'd rather me leave you to your own devices, I'll be in the shower."

"Well… So will I!" he called defiantly, following Malfoy into the boys' dormitory showers.

Malfoy turned to face him, crossed his arms, and raised an eyebrow, signature smirk already forming on his face. Harry, who seemed to read his thoughts, quickly cut in to explain himself before he could shoot another snide remark his way.

"I'm not going to go around all day wearing Eau Du Millicent, thank you very much."

Harry pushed past Draco and slowly, nervously tossed the bed sheet aside. He could feel Malfoy's gaze burn holes into his bare skin as he trudged quickly into the showers. He suddenly felt terribly self-conscious and found himself longing to snatch up the sheet to cover himself the moment it left his skin. He tried to ignore his nagging inhibitions and twisted the knob on the shower wall. The steamy temperature and soothing sensation of the water thrumming against his scalp made his mind feel hazy and he found himself instantly forgetting about the awkward situation at hand. That is, until he heard Draco Malfoy's footsteps approaching.

He casually glanced about to find Malfoy on the opposite wall and Merlin, he was stark naked. He faced the wall opposite his own which, in it's own right, gave Harry quite the view. Malfoy's shoulder muscles tensed and flexed as he ran his fingers through flaxen locks of hair and Harry just couldn't seem to pry his eyes away. He inwardly scolded himself as he felt his eyes trail downwards. Though, why his eyes were travelling south in the first place was a concept he couldn't quite grasp. This was not the time, however, for him to be grappling with his twisted, inexplicable morbid fascinations. He quickly reverted his gaze to the shower head above him and tried to wash as quickly as possible. But, as usual, Malfoy just _had _to open his stupid gob.

"So, Potter," he drawled. "Aren't you going to ask me what else happened last night?"

Harry remained silent and scrubbed vigorously at his chest and shoulders.

"Oh, come on. Don't be shy. I'm sure you're just itching to know."

Silence.

"Well Potter, since you asked so nicely… You snogged me, but you probably already knew that." Malfoy said in an apathetic tone that indicated he was ticking off these events on each of his fingers as they flew from his mouth.

"I- I- what?

Malfoy appeared to not have heard him because he continued rattling off events in what he seemed to think was still a one-sided conversation.

"The Mudblood -"

"_Hermione._" Harry interrupted.

"Right. Whatever. Granger made out with Pansy for a bit. I don't think she liked it much though."

"She _what_?!"

"Blaise ended up snogging that Weaselette girlfriend of yours and-"

"She's not _my _We- I mean, Ginny - I- We broke up."

This seemed to stall Malfoy's incessant rambling for he turned to face Potter to do one of two things: Stare at the back of his head. Or try to read his expression if, by some freak of nature, Potter happened to be staring back at him. No sooner had the thought formed in his mind when their eyes met. Both boys flushed crimson and immediately turned around again to face their opposite walls once more.

Apparently having found something terribly fascinating in the pattern of the tiles, neither of them said a word for the remaining duration of their showers and once that unusual, cruel form of torture was over, Harry scurried out and got dressed. He left without as much as a goodbye. He didn't look back.

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_A/N Partie Deux: Reviewsplzkthnkz. Wow. I felt dirty and illiterate just typing that. No, but seriously, what did you think? Substantially shittier than Insomnia? Better? Any ideas for future chapters? Review and let me know! I absolutely love reading your praise and opinions. With enough encouragement, I might even be speedier about updating! I love you all and I'm so excited to be going on this wacky fic-writing journey again with all of you. _

_With love and squalor, _

_Soapbox.  
_


	2. Solo Showers and Staring Contests

_Author's Note: So, after reading xErised's Defiled, I have been reduced to a blubbering mess. Unfortunately, in the midst of that blubbering messiness is when I was inspired to write this chapter so I hope my feelings of inadequacy don't affect my writing of this chapter too much, though I'm convinced they have. But seriously, damnit, read her fanfictions. She/he's loads better than I am. Go! Now! What are you still doing here? _

_P.S. If by some freak of nature you still want to read my work, it's located below. _

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Harry Potter was confused, to say the least. He had awoken, this time in his own bed, to foggy pictures wafting through his mind of Draco Malfoy's body in the showers the day before. He scrunched up his face in disgust and tried desperately to shake it off._Think of anything__ but Malfoy's arse.Anything.__** Breasts. Quidditch. **__His skin was like freshly fallen snow. So white, so pristine. __**Whatthefuck. Since when am I seventy-five year old **__**woman**__**? **__His hair. Oh god, his __hair__. __**Shutup, brain, shut **__**up!**_

He wanted more than anything to banish these uninvited thoughts, drive them away for good. He needed time to sort through just what had led to this bizarre change in his perception of Malfoy. Despite the fact that he was a pompous git, he was unquestionably attractive. Really. There was no denying that. Even for a straight bloke. But why did this suddenly affect him to such an extent that he was waking up in the middle of the night with the sheets tented below his waist, trying to vigorously scrub visions of Malfoy's naked body from his memory?

He slipped silently into the showers, as to not wake his other dorm-mates but the moment the water that used to melt his frustrations away began to spray against his chest, he was plagued by visions of another wall of showers, not so different from this very one, and a boy who stood on the opposite wall who was so different, yet so alike to the one who was currently running a soapy hand through unruly, ebony locks. He looked down. He debated it. He really did. Merlin knows he wished he was programmed to think of someone else when taking care of these things.

Let's just say the name he called out wasn't nearly as feminine as it should have been.

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Harry had walked to Potions in a anxious, frantic state with the memory of this morning's shower still fresh in his mind. The last thing he needed at the moment was to be confronted with the one face he was trying to avoid most and naturally, the reality of this happening within the next five minutes was not one he was ready to accept. He stopped at the threshold to catch his breath and, taking one last deep lungful of air, he stepped through the doorway taking long, confident strides. He had, over time - _like any observant, completely-not-interested-in-blond-Slytherins, heterosexual male would - _memorized where Malfoy sat in relation to the doorway and to his own seat, and today he would train his eyes not to stray in that direction.

Snape stood at the front of the classroom and was, not for the first time, lecturing the class on their inadequate attempts at yesterday's assignment. Harry kept his eyes on the textbook before him, eyes boring through the cover, in a conscious effort to not look in less inviting areas of the room. No sooner had the image of said 'less inviting areas' formed in his mind before his eyes betrayed him.

Malfoy had his head down as he jotted down the notes Snape was writing on the board before him. His sleek, pristine, white-blonde locks fell round his eyes as his quill moved furiously across the page. This seemed to irritate him greatly if the face he was making was any indication, but apparently not enough to brush the offending hair aside with his hand. His full, pale pink lips formed into a relaxed "O" shape as he blew away a strand of platinum-blonde from his forehead.

Harry was consciously aware of just how wrong it was to watch _anyone_ with this much focus and, as if on cue, Draco looked over his shoulder to meet Harry's stare. His pen immediately ceased it's scrawling on the page before him and he crossed his arms, giving Harry his full attention. He looked at Harry with a sort of calm curiosity. Raising an eyebrow questioningly, he didn't appear snide and haughty as usual, but merely observational. His Adam's apple bobbed in his throat as his eyes scanned Harry's features cautiously, before slowly turning his attention back to Snape who was currently firing questions about the properties of gurdyroot at a very startled Neville Longbottom.

Harry knew full well that upon being caught staring at your arch-enemy with probable bedroom-eyes, the most appropriate thing to do would be to find a corner to die of shame in, or at least look elsewhere within 1.5 seconds but for some reason he found it impossible to pry his eyes away. It was a challenge. He could feel it from the moment their eyes met and he was never one to lose to Draco Malfoy. And Malfoy certainly was never one to lose to him. So, why then, had he given up so easily? What was it he found so difficult about looking Harry in the eye for more than a few moments?

"While I admire such dedication that a student would remain after hours to gain more Potions knowledge, I have dismissed your class, Potter." Snape drawled, his lips curling in contemptuous mockery.

This seemed to bring Harry out of his reverie for, after shaking his head, he stood and slung his satchel over his shoulder, heading for the door. He realized a millisecond too late that there was something obstructing his path, and he mistakenly swung his left foot forward, taking another long stride.

And suddenly he felt that unmistakeable, gut-sinking sensation that precedes a fall. Just as he was plummeting face-first to the cold dungeon floor, praying he had the time to cushion the blow, he felt a vice-like grip on his arm suspending him in mid-air and warm, sweet-smelling breath tickling his ear as he was yanked upright.

"_Watch yourself, Potter." _

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_A/N Partie Deux: Thanks so much for reading, but don't you dare stray without leaving a review! I'll cry... maybe. Or something equally awful will happen. Like me suddenly losing all of my inspiration and motivation to continue this story. The choice is yours, Adoring Readers. _

_With love and squalor, _

_Soapbox.  
_


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